


A Grand Theft

by Lillington_x



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 16:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14597394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillington_x/pseuds/Lillington_x
Summary: After one of their crew members is critically injured during a job gone south, two of the biggest criminals in San Andreas take to kidnapping an emergency paramedic to keep their friend from the shady police department and the hospital's prying questionnaires. But will the take-home pay and adrenaline rush be enough to keep her mouth closed or just enough to spark her interest?





	1. Chapter 1

"Carter, you're driving," Melanie demanded while yanking open the heavy rear doors of an ambulance before she hoisted herself inside. Just as it had done the first time and the one-hundredth as well, a warmth washed over her frame. After three years in this sporadic field of work, ambulance number four had almost become a second home to the duo.

"What we got, Cutlass?" Joseph pepped. Joseph Carter, her work partner of two years now, was a hulk of a man with periwinkle eyes and fluorescent blond hair that the sun helped bleach every Spring and Summer. Keeping his locks cut close on the sides and a little grown over the top, he mirrored the military grunt he had spent all spring training to become over at Fort Zancudo in west San Andreas. He slammed the driver's door closed behind himself and stuck a key in the ignition. The sturdy engine roared to life. He checked the gears, the lights and the gauges as Melanie situated herself in the back.

"Cardiac arrest just at the end of Grove Street," she stated, immediately rising a pained grunt out of him.

"Damn. I hate that neighborhood," he complained.

"Me too, but we signed a contract. Think you can get us there in one piece?" she asked her speed demon of a friend. Carter buckled his seat-belt and pulled away from the hospital. Melanie let down her long, dark brown hair only to pull it back into its thick bun again, tighter this time so it would stay out of the way.

"Man or woman? Age?" he pressed on before glancing back at his partner in the rear-view mirror then switching on the sirens and giving the howling ambulance more gas. Trucks, cars, and pedestrians wasted no time changing lanes and moving out of their way.

"The guy on the phone said it was his mother. Dispatch couldn't get much more information out of him. He was in hysterics, so we've got to handle that too before he sends himself into shock," she explained. She planted her steel toe work boots on the metal floor and braced herself against the bench as Carter pulled off a sudden left turn downtown. He tapped the brakes for only a moment as a mid-morning cable car passed along just in front of them.

"I'm timing you as soon as we pull up," he stated, glancing back at her in the rear view mirror where he could see her eyes roll.

"Fuck me. We really still doing that?" she seemed to whine, despite her caramel cheeks flushing pink with flattery.

"You have the fastest reaction time of all the paramedics in Los Santos. Your board interview went viral. I wanna make sure you don't lose those skills, pipsqueak," he explained, eyes glued to the road. She shook her head, grinning. He was right, but she hated hearing about it. She just loved her job.

"At least someone's looking out for me. Oh! Here it is. Right here. Pull up."

Carter switched off the sirens, leaving the lights flashing as he carefully pulled alongside the curb just outside of the ragtag cul-de-sac that was Grove Street. A few men clad in purple clothing stood scattered around the neighborhood, their eyes low but observant. Melanie picked up one of the many emergency medical kits and leapt from the back of the EMS vehicle. She eyed the curious men, minding how many there were and how far away they lingered.

"Four Mississippi… Five Mississippi… Six Mississippi…" Carter started up behind her in a hushed tone.

"Shut up," she hissed over her shoulder. In the middle of the sidewalk sat a disheveled man. He lifted his face from his hands and scrambled to his feet.

"Doctors! You gotta help her!" he wailed. He clung on to Carter's sleeve and bat his damp, amber eyes at the duo. Melanie took a step back as an unsettling musk rolled off of his frame and encompassed them all. She could feel her lunch disagreeing with the scent.

"Eugh. Where is she?" she questioned, biting back the urge to cough or cover her mouth. The man appeared shocked after she placed a hand on his shoulder to pull him away from her partner.

"She's in here," another replied. He stood in the doorway of a small, rickety looking home which clashed with the gray and white suit hugging his body. His blue eyes were abnormally void of any emotion. Melanie hesitated as she crossed the sidewalk toward him.

"In here," he insisted. "She was on the floor in the kitchen when I found her. Just lying there and…clutching her chest. I didn't know what to do."

"You did the right thing by calling us," Carter tried in an effort to comfort the stranger. He sidestepped the two paramedics then beckoned the way inside. Carter stepped past his comrade and marched down the hallway.

"Ma'am? Hello?" he called. Melanie stopped, one foot on the stoop and the other just over the threshold. She eyed the dust that had settled on the side table in the hallway. The vase perched on top of it housed long-dead flowers and even more dust.

"Carter, hold on a minute-"

Three aluminum canisters clattered and clunked around her boots. She drew in a deep breath and tried yanking her shirt over her nose and mouth.

"Melanie! Get out!" her partner's voice declared from the other room. As she turned for the exit, someone shoved her from behind and slammed the front door shut. Melanie banged her head on the edge of the wooden side table before her body thudded against the carpeted floor. Even the carpet smelled old and neglected like the rest of the home. This was a set-up.

Her eyesight went blurry and her ears rang. She groaned once and rolled onto her back. "Car- Carter?"

"Fuck!" came his voice. His footsteps frantically meandered this way and that. The canisters blew their lids and a dull green smoke began to billow into the still air around them. Someone marched by, stepping over her with worn boots. Moments later, Carter's solid body hit the floor beside hers. Dazed from her head injury, Melanie's fingers twitched as her body reacted to the nerve agent filling her burning lungs.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Is this the right one?"

"Yeah. Step back, T. She's waking up. Give her some breathing room."

"What happened?" the woman groaned. She coughed and the wooden chair beneath her squeaked. Her head lolled on her shoulders. Her eyes burned and her throat itched. "Where's my partner?"

"He's fine. Don't worry about him. You just focus on waking up. Get it together, kid," one of the men insisted. His shadow wavered over her slumped frame as he rose to his feet. The man sitting next to Melanie poked her temple, causing her to wince against her skull's relentless throbbing.

"What happened? Who pushed me?" she grunted. She tried to rub her face, only to find her wrists duct taped to the arms of the chair she sat in. Her pink, tired eyes surveyed the dim room. One man paced back and forth a couple feet away.

"How you doing, Melanie?" the man in the neighboring chair questioned.

"Who're you?" she inquired, shaking her buzzing skull.

"That's not important at the moment. You are Melanie Cutlass, yeah?"

"Who wants to know?" she hissed.

"I do. He does," the pacing man declared, quickly approaching her. "We do!"

She leaned back in the chair, away from his bold features. It was the man who had been cowering on the sidewalk. His eyes were wild and the scar cutting through his left eyebrow shouted for attention.

"Err, where's the woman?" Melanie gasped.

"I put on quite an emotional show, didn't I? I coulda been an actor," the wild one laughed, pushing away from her and pacing again.

"There was no woman. We made all that up. That gas still got you all funky in the head, but when you're ready, we need your help," the man in the seat beside her claimed. She finally looked at him. It was the man in the suit who had been standing on the stoop of the ragtag house on Grove Street.

"Who pushed me?" she asked again.

"Are you sure she's the right one?" the pacing man impatiently asked. The one sitting down scoffed and tugged at the sleeves of his tailored three-piece suit.

"Well you did push her and make her hit her head, T."

"She was taking too long."

"You think she'll be of any help if she's concuss?" he jumped to his feet.

"Clearly she isn't. You've gone way too soft, Mikey. Jesus Christ."

"Shut up, Trevor."

"Hey!"

The two men turned their attention down to the woman they had abducted.

"What the fuck is going on?" she demanded in a serious tone. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Fuck no, sweet pea. We need your help," the one called Trevor stated.

"Why should I help you? You pricks gassed me and my partner. Where is Carter?" she struggled.

"What is with you and this guy? Is he your husband? In fact, you even got a man in your life or-"

"I apologize for my…friend's behavior," the other interrupted, raising a hand. "He suffers from psychosis or some other meth-induced shit."

"Ah, bite me."

"And he can be a little hands-on when he's angry," the other revealed. "Carter's safe and sound, just like you'll be if you can pull us a favor."

She glared back and forth between her captors. Trevor let out a growl then marched toward her. She tensed against the chair as he reared back an arm, only to swiftly slide a box cutter through the tape around her wrists.

"T..." the other warned.

"Follow me," he impatiently grumbled, waving the blade in front of his face and starting toward a door. She turned to Michael, but he waved her onward in front of him.

"I'd do as told. He's the rational one," he explained. Trevor held the door open for Michael and Melanie to enter the other room.

"'bout time. Is this her?" a new man asked. He lie on his back across a long, wooden table. A medical kit and several other items stolen from the ambulance were on display alongside him. Then, she noticed the blood on his shirt. Bright red blotches stained his sleeve and abdomen.

"This is our pal. Can you patch him up?" Trevor asked. She shrugged a shoulder.

"I-I don't know. He could go into shock or lose consciousness or-"

"I didn't ask what might happen. Can you help him or not?" he pressed, voice growing stern.

"Did they go right through?" she queried, freezing in place at the end of the table.

"Huh?"

"The bullets? You were shot? Are they still inside you?" she simplified, hiding her agitation and fear with annoyance.

"The one in my side is. It stings like a bitch," the injured groaned.

"You need to take him to a hospital for surgery," she quickly claimed with a short shake of her head.

"No can do, kid. That's what you're for," Michael claimed. "Pull it out, stitch him up, and we'll all be on our way."

"What you're asking for can't be done, at least not here. I can't-"

"Can't or won't?" Michael tried, crossing his arms over his chest. She didn't answer. Without a moment's hesitation, Trevor grabbed the paramedic by the collar of her shirt and pinned her to the wall. Her breath hitched in her throat as she clutched at his wrist. The box cutter clicked open and the blade glistened against the dim fluorescent lights overhead.

"Are you testing us? Cause if you are - I'll slice open your neck, rip your throat out then eat it for fucking dinner!"

"You won't do anything," she bravely spoke up through clenched teeth, struggling to steady her breathing. His eyes narrowed as he glared down at her, mouth slightly ajar. She uncomfortably wiggled in his grasp and let out a shaky breath. Her nerves were rattled, but she was used to it.

"I know you won't. Your friend needs help and abducting an ambulatory medic? It must've been a last resort."

The entire room was silent. A growl rumbled from the aggressor's chest and escaped his mouth before he shoved her backward and she caught herself on a dusty counter.

"Y'all got anesthesia or we gonna get straight to work soon? I mean, I'm really feeling it over here," the injured spoke up.

"Gotcha Frank," Trevor grumbled, glancing back at her over his shoulder as he crossed the room. He ran the box cutter down the side of Franklin's shirt to expose his wounds then waved his hand as though displaying an art piece to the woman. Melanie looked over at Michael, who had his eyes closed as he pinched at the bridge of his nose. She let out a shaky breath and stepped up to the table. Trevor crossed his arms over his chest and stood opposite her.

"Alcohol?" she dared request. He pulled out a silver flask and offered it over Franklin's body.

"That's not what I meant…" she quietly murmured. Michael snatched away the beverage and slid a bottle of rubbing alcohol across the table.

"This is gonna sting," she warned. With a purse of her lips, she poured alcohol over the holes in his skin. He let out a loud yelp until Trevor's hand came down over his mouth. He was watching Melanie closely. She opened the medical kit and sifted through the compartments. Her heart was racing a mile a minute. Who were these men? What had gotten them into this? Her hesitation was noticed.

"What?" Trevor curiously grunted.

"There, uh… There aren't any surgical tongs. I need tongs to pull the bullet out, but I don't... I don't have any. They were in the packs in the front of the ambulance. Did you grab them?"

Both Trevor and Michael shifted uncomfortably. Melanie's stomach fell to the floor.

"Okay... Well, uh, I'm going to need you both to hold him still," she finally ordered, mustering up some sort of courage in her empty gut. Michael finally approached the table. She turned her back to the three men and washed her hands in the old sink across the room before splashing alcohol over her fingers and palms.

"What're you gonna do?" Michael curiously asked. She returned to the men and withdrew a needle from the medical kit then filled it with alcohol and shot it directly into the wound in his abdomen. If these men wanted it done, she would give them what they asked for. Trevor looked on in awe.

"Wait, you can't do it like that. Is you crazy?" Franklin exclaimed.

"You want this done? Keep him quiet and keep him still," she warned. Michael quickly snatched off his tie.

"Man, y'all can't just mmph trmmp-"

He gagged Franklin, tying the piece of cloth about his mouth.

"Sorry sorry sorry…" Melanie quickly whispered before sliding two fingers into the hole the bullet had left behind. Franklin nearly tossed away the two men, but they braced themselves, Trevor leaning over his chest and Michael holding him down at his ankles. Melanie winced and delved deeper into the warm wound. His knees locked and she felt one of his fists tighten around the fabric along the bottom of her white, uniform shirt.

"Keep breathing! I need you to breathe or else you'll go into shock and pass out," she instructed as calm as she could muster. His muffled screams faltered slightly and he viciously sucked in air through his wide nose. Her own heart was doing gymnastics in her chest. She was knuckles-deep in a criminal's abdomen inside a small, abandoned office building in who knows where. Despite her profession, even that was a bit much. After what felt like an eternity, her thin middle finger met the bullet lodged in a muscle. He shuddered and lurched, throwing Trevor back a few feet.

"Hold him down!" she ordered again.

"Up and at'em, down and out!" Trevor bellowed taking a swing at Franklin's face with a clenched fist. The man fell flat against the table, head rolling.

"Hey!" Michael worriedly declared.

"He's fine, see?"

Franklin lightly groaned, dazed from the blow, as she managed to slip a finger around the metal. She pressed two fingers of her free left hand against the inside of his wrist to catch his pulse. Blood seeped out his wound and rolled down his brown skin. His heart rate quickened as she twisted the bullet from its place.

"Mmph! I'mmafuckmm-" Franklin muttered about the gag. She sucked in a deep breath, gripped the bullet with cramped fingers and pulled it from his flesh as fast as she could. Blood spurt through the stagnant air, staining more of the fabric of his and her ruined shirts. Franklin bit down on the tie, raggedly dragging on oxygen, before slightly relaxing against the group. Without a word, Melanie placed the bullet on the table.

"Oh fuck... I think I just came," Trevor noisily remarked, eyes ablaze with shock and wonder. She wiped her bloody hands on her uniform slacks then immediately started packing the wound with gauze. She felt a shiver in her chest. What had she just done? She packed the hole in his shoulder then took a couple steps back.

"Let the gauze absorb for a bit then…I'll change it and stitch it up. I'm... I'm sorry," she muttered, scurrying away from the men. She hurried through the door and sat down in the chair she had been restrained against earlier. Her knees wobbled. She could still feel his flesh and sinewy tissue around her fingers.

"Whoa! You're nearly done. Get it together and get back in there," Michael instructed as he pushed through the door. There was a pistol in his hand this time. Her eyes widened.

"Are you gonna kill me once I'm finished? I won't say anything. I swear," Melanie pleaded. He stretched his neck and ran a hand through his graying black hair.

"We're not good people, but we're not your concern unless you royally fuck up between now and whenever we get you home. If we had taken Frank to the hospital, the three of us would have gotten thrown in prison for a long time. You just did us a huge favor. I owe you."

"I don't want anything."

"Not even two thousand dollars?" he tried. She swallowed hard and turned her eyes to him. He shifted his eyes away from her gaze and stretched his neck again. With a sigh, he tucked the gun somewhere under his suit jacket.

"Trevor's gonna kill me, but… After you stitch up Frank, we're each gonna give you a couple hundred out of our cut from the score. We hit a small-time bank. We were cut short because our sources were a little incorrect with some data, hence Franklin's injury. After you stitch him up, I'm gonna drop you off at your house and you're not gonna speak a word about anything that happened. The fact we know your name, address, and place of business should be enough to instill some fear in your heart. You're gonna go back to work. As far as you know, ambulance number four was in a rollover accident after some Balla gang bangers tried to ambush you and you woke up in a ditch, but you're okay."

"And what about my partner? Carter?" she questioned.

"He's been briefed already. Keep up your end of the deal and you'll see him when you see him."


	2. Promises, Promises

The automatic glass doors clamped shut behind Melanie as she entered Pillbox Hill Medical Center. The ominous, sterilized smell of hospital wafted against her senses and the bright, white lights hurt her brown eyes. Any other time, she loved being here, but she hadn't slept a wink last night. Her mind simply kept wandering back to the men she had encountered. They were criminals. Unhinged and unorthodox criminals who made a living for whatever families they had with dirty money. Unhinged and unorthodox criminals who had kidnapped her. The thought made her shudder. She had actually helped them, making herself an accomplice to whatever crimes they committed. What bothered her more-so was how they had graciously paid for her aid. Then even let her go! What kind of ramshackle charitable case were they?

"Cutlass!"

Carter's voice made her jump in her skin, sending her train of thought to a screeching halt.

"You gonna make it?" he inquired, his periwinkle eyes on her and also carrying the burden of a sleepless night. She nodded and walked past him, pushing through the double doors leading toward their offices. His padded footsteps hurried along beside her.

"You sure? You look tired," he pointed out.

"That's because I am. This job takes a lot out of me," she quickly claimed. "Out of all of us."

His entire face contorted into a frown.

"In the three years we've been working here, that's new to my ears out of you."

"I'm not allowed to complain?" she snapped. She checked in at the sign-in station and pushed her way into the locker room.

"If it isn't the dynamic duo," another paramedic greeted as he was pulling on his boots. "I can't believe that shit happened yesterday."

She hesitated, waiting.

"And to YOU out of all people? The mayor better do something about the gangs soon. I would have probably came after a Balla or three if something had happened to you guys," he continued. She nodded slowly, her eyes flitting back to Carter for just a moment. He wouldn't look at her. She continued on to her locker a few rows over.

"I didn't say you weren't allowed to complain. I just…" her partner trailed off. He took a seat on the wooden bench behind her. She couldn't take his nervous fidgeting anymore.

"How much did they give you?" she finally asked, unable to bite her tongue any longer. She wrung her hands nervously.

"A thousand," he quietly replied. She nodded and started to peel off her clothes then slip into a clean uniform of black cargo pants and a white collared shirt.

"What about you?" he pressed, eyes on her now.

"Two thousand."

He sighed. "Where'd you go? When I woke up, the ambulance was burning at my feet and you were nowhere to be found."

"I'm not sure," she claimed with a shrug. "I didn't get to look around."

"What did they do to you?" he asked, his eyes scanning her up and down. "Or what'd you do for them?"

She slammed the locker closed.

"Nothing."

"Well, Nicky wants an incident report on her desk by noon. The police want to investigate it," Carter explained. Melanie groaned and held her face in her hands. She plopped down on the bench beside him and rubbed her eyes.

"Carter, we cannot say anything about what actually went down. I mean it. They…" she lowered her voice. "They know things about me, about us. If we speak a single word on what happened, we're as good as done."

"What do they know?"

She frowned at her friend.

"Where we work. What shift we were working. Which ambulance we ride in. Where we live," she spouted.

"Who were they? You think covering for them is more important than being honest to the police?"

"For your sake and mine - shut up. We don't speak on it. Ever. We were ambushed by Ballas and that's that."

"I have a problem with this," he interjected, standing again.

"They will kill us. Do you understand?" she hissed as she wrung her hands in his direction.

"Is that what they told you?"

"Carter, don't start with me!" she drew in a deep breath to settle her growing agitation. "Trust me, you don't want this getting out. Think about your life, your family, your career."

"They'd need a militia to get to my family. I'm trained better than whoever these people claim to be. How'd you even get away?" he pressed.

"One of them drove me home. Like I said, they know where we live. They've got access to information and if you think they won't come after us in the middle of the night, you're wrong. Look at the stunt they pulled in broad fucking daylight."

He shook his head.

"Alright," he finally agreed. "We were struck by Ballas."

"Thank you," she breathed, throwing a hug around his shoulders.

Another paramedic stuck her head around their row of lockers.

"Nicky's looking for you two," she announced before disappearing again. The familiar slight limp of Nicky's gait shuffled closer and the woman appeared with a uniformed cop on her right arm. Carter took a slight step away from Melanie and cleared his throat.

"How are you two holding up?" she greeted, hands in the pockets of her khakis.

"Better than yesterday, Cap," Melanie responded, closing her locker. Carter nodded in agreement.

"This is Detective Clause. He and I have to fill out some paperwork about the incident. Who wants to start?"

"Well yesterday, we got a call at around four in the evening about a woman on Grove Street who had went into cardiac arrest. Tammy from dispatch was the one who sent us to the scene. Melanie and I reached the site by ten after the hour," Carter quickly explained.

"As we pulled alongside the curb, Carter noticed a suspicious looking vehicle following closely behind. I departed from the rear of the ambulance, but three masked men in purple leapt from the tailing vehicle and forced me back inside. One climbed inside with me and…tried to wrestle with me but Carter forced him away," Melanie threw in. Carter nodded quickly.

"While Carter was wrestling with him, I climbed into the front seat and tried to drive us away from danger, but lost control and we rolled over. I woke up to Carter shaking me and-"

"I've heard enough," Detective Clause interjected. Melanie knelt and nervously fidgeted with the laces of her boots. He pulled out a phone and clicked through a few notes before it rang in his hands.

"Clause. Yes. I'm talking to the two right… Oh, perfect. Alright. Thank you."

Nicky turned to the federal worker.

"I've got a source coming in to my desk right now. I'll be in contact. Until then, I want these two only answering emergencies north of the inner city. Square, Miss Mills?"

"Square," Nicky sighed, relaxing beside the man. He sent the group a small nod before leaving the locker room. Nicky sported a cheeky grin until the door swung shut and her entire demeanor changed.

"What the hell?" she hissed. "What happened out there? Are you alright?"

"It's getting bad in Los Santos," Melanie griped. "There are dangerous people out there."

"I'll say," Carter agreed with a deep sigh.

"Clean up ambulance number two. Take that one if you're called out and for Christ's sake, run away if you see any purple."

"Aye aye, Captain."

"And stop calling me 'captain' before I have an aneurysm," she scolded before loping away away. Immediately, Carter took his seat on the bench again. His leg was jumping.

"I'm getting too old for this," he sighed, running a rough hand over his face.

"This shouldn't be an issue. We shouldn't cross paths with them anymore," she insisted.

"What happens when they need your help or whatever again?"

"They're not gonna need my help again, Carter. I'm not…" she sighed, frustrated. "Their work is way out of our league."

"That's why they're gonna need you, Melanie. You are one of the best at what we do and whatever it is they do or have done, you complement it perfectly."

The disappointment in his voice struck a chord in her chest. She swallowed the lump in her throat and shuffled her feet.

"How am I supposed to know our next call site won't be another ambush by your friends, ready to trash another ambulance and whisk you away?" he seethed through his teeth.

"They're not my friends. Calm down. Don't make this personal-"

"Are you listening to yourself right now? They ambushed us. They knew exactly what to do. Whatever kind of shit show these men are in-"

"I had to perform surgery on their friend, okay?" she lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "He was shot and if he had went to the hospital, they all would have been arrested."

"What the fuck?" he snapped, his eyes bulging out at her. "Then that is their own problem! This whole thing could've been avoided if you had just called the police."

Her entire face scrunched up and she nodded.

"Oh, yeah. I should have called the police when I woke up duct taped to that chair. I should have called the police when one of them had a knife at my neck. Sure. Because LSPD are just so damn good at their job, right?" she angrily exclaimed.

"When you got home, you should have called."

"You didn't meet the men I met, Carter. They would have more than likely let their friend bleed out than taken him to a hospital," she quietly urged, fists tight by her sides.

"That wasn't your responsibility. It wasn't your job to do," he scolded with a shake of his head. She scoffed, holding out her arms.

"But it was my job. That's what we do. We save lives, the good and the bad."

He sat in silence, his leg still jumping and his head shaking.

"The fucking gall on you, I swear," he groaned. "If my commander ever gets wind of this…"

"Just promise me you'll stick to the story. No one will hear anything if we both stay quiet. I need to know you swear not to speak a word on what really happened," she whispered.

"Fine. Fuck. I promise."


	3. Welcome to the Jungle

DING DONG! DING DONG! The doorbell's chiming echoed through the quiet apartment. Melanie groaned into her pillow. She had just put herself to bed an hour ago after a forty-eight hour shift at the hospital. Prying open her eyes, she glared over at her bedside clock. Who the hell could be at her door at three in the morning? With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and shuffled from the room. Who else? It had to be one of them… She froze in her tracks and shook her head hard, clenching her eyes shut. No, that was just paranoia. It was probably a neighbor. It was raining and she had left her car windows down? They wanted to borrow some sugar? They needed to use the phone? She swallowed hard then padded down the carpeted hall and crossed the living room before swinging the front door open wide.

The wild one that went by Trevor stood beneath the awning of her stoop. His clothes were wet from the downpour and he was hunched over slightly, his hand covering a bloodied patch of his shirt's fabric. She looked past him at the trashed police car parked crookedly along the curb in front of her apartment. He didn't wait for an invitation, squeezing past her to cross the threshold. She heard him stalk off to the kitchen, his wet boots squeaking beneath his weight. She finally shut the door, leaving it unlocked in case she had to make a quick getaway.

"What happened?" Melanie finally questioned. She stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, watching as he gulped down one of her beers then popped the lid on a second. The bottle was half emptied when he tore it from his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and let out a deep sigh.

"Ran into some trouble with highway patrol," he explained then let out a belch. Her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes flickered away from his.

"What did you do?"

"Doughnut eating bastard wanted me to walk a straight line then when I couldn't, he tried to cuff me, but I stopped 'em."

"Jesus…" she sighed, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers. She would be harboring a fugitive now. He stepped up to the woman. She shied away, but he placed both hands against the wall on either side of her, trapping her beneath his hard gaze.

"Don't go getting funky with me. You answered Mikey's call, you'll answer mine too. Hell, Frank might even call you if he needs help bad enough. You made yourself accessible," Trevor growled. The slight slur in his words led her to believe he was under the influence of some sort. His eyes were glazed over and there was more booze on his breath than the beer in her refrigerator, but something about him was wide awake.

"Alright," she settled, ducking past him and sliding open a drawer. He pulled his wet shirt over his head and flung it down to the linoleum with a heavy smack. Trying her hardest to ignore the various scars and tattoos adorning his torso, she placed a single hand on his chest and gently pushed him back. He didn't protest the silent order, leaning back against the counter.

"How'd you become a doctor?" he asked as she prepped her belongings on the counter beside him. She didn't bother correcting the man.

"I went to school for it," she simply answered. He scoffed.

"Bloody accidents don't look like your forte, Missy," he softly hissed. She swatted away his hand as he toyed with the bottom of her camisole. Her eyes rolled.

"How ya feel about picking up after bad guys now?" he pressed on.

"You and your friends aren't my first round of criminals," she replied, indifferent. "I've stitched up plenty thieves, DUIs, and other wrong doers."

"Chump shit," he snorted. She shook her head, tearing the wrapper off an alcohol wipe.

"Crime is crime."

"Bullshit. You ain't seen real crime yet- OOWEEMAMA! What the fuck is that!"

He gripped her gloved hand as she dabbed at the laceration in his abdomen.

"Alcohol? I have to clean it before I bandage it," she quickly explained.

"Bandage?" he repeated, the hurt look melting out of his eyes to make way for curiosity.

"Yes."

"No stitches?" he tried. She leaned back, examining the wound again.

"No. It isn't that deep, but you'll need to slow down so the scab doesn't tear whenever it starts to form."

A creepy grin took over his face, filling his cheeks and wrinkling his eyes.

"I like you," he released her wrist. "You know your shit."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Don't ever be fucking bashful around me."

"Thank you," she corrected, hoping he would tuck away his harsh tone. He stood upright and stretched as she pat down the last piece of tape over the gauze on his side.

"Mind if I crash here?" he scooped up his beer and took a sip. Her mouth opened to answer with a sharp "yes", but she caught his gaze. He stood, watching her from out of the corner of his eye, like a predator watching its prey, as she tucked away her tools.

"No. Go ahead," she cautiously answered. His tongue swiveled and danced in his partially agape mouth before he snapped his fingers in her direction, another toothy grin on his dirty face.

"Got any dry shirts lying around I could slide into?"

"Sorry. No."

"What?" he exclaimed, his heavy eyes widening. "Your boyfriend don't leave shit behind for you to sniff or sleep in or whatever it is you chicks do?"

"If I had a boyfriend, you certainly would not be crashing on the couch, or anywhere near me for that matter," she answered, smug. Her sudden burst of attitude and confidence roused his core. He shook his head and scratched at his damp, wild hair.

"Well," he kicked off his boots and disappeared from the kitchen. "Night, doc."

She paused for a moment before groaning quietly and switching off the light. When she hustled through the living room, he was haphazardly sprawled across the couch on his back with his phone to his ear.

"Enough about me. Mm. What're you wearing? Oh… Uncle T wishes he could see that sexy shit. Me? I got nothin' but my pants on right now, but my hands down 'em…"

She gagged, hurrying down the hallway and closing her bedroom door. She twisted the lock and tossed herself onto her mattress. His muffled voice was barely audible through the door. She squeezed the bridge of her nose and sighed. This was going to get messy. She would call Michael first thing in the morning to talk about aforementioned opportunities…and his friend.

"You're so full of shit, pop. If you hate me, all you gotta do is say so."

As Melanie stepped closer to a mosaic of a front door to Michael's abode, she could hear shouting coming from inside. Careful not to eavesdrop, she raised a fist to knock, but the door swung inward and out barged a young man.

"Jimmy, I don't hate you," Michael added from just behind the man. He noticed the woman standing off to the side and beamed.

"Hey. You made it."

"Who's this? She's not gonna try to steal a car from us too, is she? Sup, bitch? I know karate," the younger remarked.

"Excuse my son. James has been brainwashed by energy drinks and video games. Tone it down, Jim," Michael suggested. The frown on her face relaxed as she followed the two down the neat driveway.

"The sun is burning me right now. Mom was right about you. You don't know any better and you can't help it, because you're an asshole," his son complained. Melanie's eyebrows rose at his boldness. Michael whirled around to face his spawn.

"Is that what you think? Then why don't you do something about it? Besides just standing there? Why don't you hit me?"

"Is that what you want? To be hit by your son?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah. ...no," Michael shook his head and relaxed his fists by his sides. "I just…want you to do something besides sit inside, eating, smoking dope, and jerking off."

Jimmy's cheeks grew pink as he glanced at the woman standing beside his dad.

"Thanks for the fucking guidance, Dad. It means a lot," he started storming down the driveway.

"Wait," Michael griped. "I'm just trying to help ya."

"Nothing says 'I love you' like smashing my fucking TV then exploiting me in front of your friend. Nothing at all!"

He began to sniffle and turn away from the two. Michael shot Melanie a look with pursed lips and exhaled through his nose.

"I'm sorry," he finally let out to his child. "I just wish we could do things together."

"Yeah, what things? Rob banks and shoot people?"

Upon hearing that, Melanie grew wary and shuffled her feet. Even his son knew his means of business.

"I don't know. Uh, go for walks. Play ball," Michael tried.

"You know I have bad glands," Jimmy complained, his tone going softer.

"Bike ride then," she piped up, unable to withstand Michael's inability to relate to his child any longer.

"Bike ride?" Jimmy repeated, raising his tattooed arms to his dad. "You wanna go on a fucking bike ride? Fine. A bike ride along Vespucci Beach. Okay, Dad. I got just the thing to show you."

"Should I come back at another time or…?" Melanie hesitated.

"Nonsense. Get in," Michael knocked on the hood of a black Obey Tailgater waiting on the curb before he popped open the driver's side door. Jimmy plopped into the passenger seat then crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. Melanie lowered herself into the seat behind Jimmy before Michael pulled away from the curb. The two up front continued bickering as they flowed with the traffic through Rockford Hills. She gawked up at the high cobblestone walls encasing some of the wide mansions. Sports cars and flashy SUVs glinted in the sun at every turn. She looked at Michael, clad in board shorts and a button-up Hawaiian shirt. He fit in with every other upper class pedestrian just fine.

It wasn't until the trio neared the beach front did she tune back into whatever frequency they were on.

"What's the big deal? If anything goes wrong, you can fake your death and start all over."

"Life's not that simple, James. Shut your mouth."

"We're here. Please don't shoot the bike rental guy out of, like, force of habit," Jimmy complained. Melanie stifled a frown and shook her head.

"Hey you. Three bikes," Michael ignored his son's snide remark and approached the rental shack.

"Uh, Michael, I…" she trailed off, deciding not to anger the older man any more.

"If I make it to the end of the pier first, you're gonna buy me a big-ass new flat screen," Jimmy wagered.

"End of the pier? Alright, but if I beat you, you have to start acting like a human being!" Michael matched.

"If I have a heart attack, it's your fault!" Jimmy whined. By the time Melanie situated her feet on the pedals of her own bike, the father-son duo was already viciously pedaling on the bike path along the beach and exchanging obscenities with one another. Suddenly, Trevor didn't seem so insane. She shook her head, standing on the pedals to try and close the distance.

"Excuse me! Watch out!" Melanie declared. She flicked at the bell attached to the handlebars, wincing as she barely missed beach-goers whizzing by.

"Dad! Wait!" Jimmy was yelling when she finally reached the end of the pier. A family of four scurried off the path as she barreled past the flashy fairgrounds. Coming to a halt, she caught Michael wrenching his shirt over his head and running toward the edge of the pier.

"Michael!"

"Stay with Jim! I'll meet you on the beach!" he bellowed over his shoulder before he dove into the ocean below. She rushed to the edge and peered over into the foamy, indigo depths below. Just below the surface, Michael was swimming arm over arm.

"This is so fucked," Jimmy muttered, standing beside her. She sent him a peculiar look.

"Where's he going?" Melanie asked.

"Tracey, my sister, is on that boat out there about to get banged by some porno producers and made famous," he laughed.

"You set this up on purpose?" she inquired.

"I'm not as dumb as I seem," he jeered. "And you're smarter than the last guy my dad brought around."

"Cut your dad some slack," she suggested. "He's irritated as is and I need him in a good mood when we talk. If we ever get around to it."

"Good mood? A GOOD MOOD? Michael De Santa wouldn't know what a good mood was if it came and sat on his face."

The sound of gunshots rang out in the distance.

"Shit," Jimmy cursed. "That's gotta be him. Come on!"

The two started down the pier and hurried down a ladder that dug into the wet sand where the shore met the tide.

"There he is! Jimmy! You…You d-bag!"

A blonde came running along the beach as Michael dismounted a Seashark. There was blood on his left shoulder.

"He's the douche, okay! He smashed my TV and he brought me to the beach. The beach, Trace! With my skin!" Jimmy declared.

"So what? You send him out to ruin my day too?" she shrieked.

"I didn't know that he was going to come get you! I just told him where you were. You know, he got that crazy look in his eyes. You know, how he gets sometimes, and he just went," Jimmy reasoned.

"I'm getting a cab," Tracey marched away. Jimmy glanced back at his dad and Melanie, then followed his sister.

"I'm coming with you."

"How about I just drive us home?" Michael interjected, arms wide.

"You ruined my life," Tracey cried, leaving Michael in the sand. He sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to Melanie.

"I promise, it's not always this extreme," he said with a smile.

"I'll take family drama over encounters with Trevor at three in the morning any day," she sighed.

"That what you wanted to talk about?" he asked, wincing slightly as she offered over his shirt and he pulled it over the cut in his arm. She started to examine the wound but he stepped away.

"Nah, I'm alright. What's T done already?"

"He got a little banged up running from the police last night. They tried to get him for driving under the influence and I patched him up before the sun came up."

Michael shook his head.

"Fucking Trevor. Crazy son of a bitch. I'll keep an eye on him if that'll make you feel any safer."

"Well that's not all I wanted to talk to you about," she added as she followed him across the beach. He glanced her way.

"You're curious," he quietly noted. Her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth. She had had an entire speech prepared. Between the money the three had given her for saving Franklin and the change that was two-hundred wrinkled dollars and a mint Trevor had left on her kitchen table when she woke up to an empty apartment that morning, "curious" was only the tip of the iceberg.

"I'll tell you one thing, kid… If you pick up the phone twenty-four hours from now and I'm on the other end of that receiver, you have one shot to back out. That's it. But if you say yes one time, that's yes till the end – no matter how that end is met. Do you understand?" he explained. She shook his extended hand and nodded.

"I understand."


End file.
